


into the quiet

by treeprince



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bondage, Earth C (Homestuck), Gags, M/M, Praise Kink, dirk being hopelessly devoted, jake being just as devoted but not hopeless at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 14:04:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10832802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treeprince/pseuds/treeprince
Summary: You're not daft, you know what godhood is like. You just didn't think you could live with yourself forever.Jake reminds you that it's not yourself you're sharing space with now, it's him, and all that he holds dear and close to his heart.And that means you.





	into the quiet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gay baby jail break server](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=gay+baby+jail+break+server).



 

The gentle glide of soft rope over your skin is what pulls you from your reverie, a breathless gasp escaping as the  _ zwip _ of another knot being formed crosses paths with the pulse point of your wrist.

He tugs and tweaks and traces lines over your back and around your hands and arms until the silk roads lead to a rome he creates over your heart, a knot lying peacefully on your breastbone like a stone, ready to be picked up but for the moment keeping you locked in place. When he thinks you’re good and tight, he plucks the center up, places his palm on your chest, asks you to “Breathe in now”, and you draw in a deep inhale through your nose, the solid bar in your mouth to keep you from providing “unnecessary slander”. The hand stays, making sure he can feel the space between you and your cage. He’s satisfied when the angled branches of your ribs brush the taught line in his hand and flutter back down without fuss.   
  
His hands leave you but come back like a shot to guide you to the bed where you lie back, your palms at your sides and your eyes following his gaze. He loves to look at you like this, especially when you can’t tell him not to, tell him that you’re waiting for the veil over his eyes to finally lift away so he can see what you  _ really _ are. But you know he wouldn’t listen to you, even if you showed him, even though you’ve proven why you are the mess he sees before him to yourself before. Giving Jake reasons to doubt you has only backfired in your experience. They don’t matter in the grand opera of his world. You are his actor, his coy, ruddy thing that he will steer and direct on his stage, for his pleasure. No amount of evidence to the contrary will make him see that you are undeserving of his time or kindness.

Gently, so gently, he lays your head down on the pillows, cradling your neck with one hand while the other checks the bit. He touches the straps that travel around to the back of your head where the clasp sits comfortably, gently pulling at any hairs that may be caught astray in its path. When he steps away again, the curtains draw up. He exits your field of vision, and you are left to be viewed like a present on a (very plush) shelf.   
  
For a while, there is just the daily clicks of life to fill the space between you. The sway of shadows over the walls, the far away sounds of fauna, the creak of the bed as you breathe  _ innnnn _ and out. The rhythmic tock of gears in the clock on the nightstand ticking away, drawing your focus to yourself slowly with each passing second.

You think back to how you ended up here, tied up like a pretty box, your upper half a twisting track of cords and your legs free to move, forbidden from speaking but able to kick if necessary, while he seems to enjoy just watching you try to ignore that bit of info. He offered to subdue you today over breakfast, as casually as the half eaten piece of egg dripping over your toast, the runny parts pooling onto the plate. You almost said no, but his eyes said ‘please’, and there's nothing in this world or any that you wouldn't do for Jake English. You both have the day to yourselves, might as well try something new if it makes him happy.   
  
Soon enough, all your attention is drawn inwards. Minutes go by, and all you hear is your heart, feel it in your skull like a slow drum beating, beating. Your breath’s a cadence to the song being played. Your joints start to crack. You try to relax them, move your leg a little here, press your shoulders back to the sheets, arch your spine as far as it will go. They pop and shift with every subtle move you make as you adjust to your new position. You go through all your fingers, count them knuckle to tip, let them curl and uncurl to keep your blood flowing, keep it steady as the beat goes on.   
  
A sharp breath strikes your ear. Your heart skips a beat. It’s a stark and sudden reminder that he is still here, utterly captivated by you, and when he lets out a whispered, “Lovely..”   
  
_ You forgot why you’re here _ , and with great pain, try not to flush in embarrassment. He is going to drag this out, this new form of intimacy that he said would bring you both to new heights. You draw your legs closer to yourself, try to curl up all your parts so he can’t see the daggers in your limbs, even as his eyes drink you in. Your skin grows hot under his careful watch, your audience entranced by how quickly you threw all your masks aside to try and make yourself more comfortable. Putting yourself on display without thought, without remembering to hide. He goes quiet again, but your mind cannot.   
  
How much time has passed? You lose track now that you can’t stop yourself from thinking about his figure standing there at the edge of the bed, though you are aware now that the cast of his shadow on the floor has moved, even though he has not. Jake is a pillar, a statue waiting to come to life, his eyes cut sharp as he revels in the sight of you splayed out like the palm of a fern unfurling. He has only to reach out and touch you to see you come undone, and yet nothing has happened. You sit on this precipice, waiting for your cue,  _ any _ cue. Any moment now he will pounce or he will retreat and leave you here. You’re starting to lose your grasp on yourself, fracturing into what if, what if, what if  _ he isn’t real _   
  
A board creaks. You breathe through your nose again, a deep release, try to calm down. You bite the bit, smooth your tongue along your cheek. Your fidgeting will only drive him away, you need to be  _ still _ .   
  
And then, his fingers are there, just two, just the barest brush of him against your ankle. You stiffen, a reflex, and relax immediately in the space of a breath. They graze over your skin, tickling fine hairs that you only know are there when the light hits them just right. The heat is  _ unbearable _ , so close to you it makes your bareness more prominent than ever. He is a scorching sun and you are desert sand, waiting to be quenched.   
  
“You always were a daisy of a picture, love,” his words, spoken with such reverence, you choke out a noise that you’re sure couldn’t ever have come from you.  _ What is he doing? _ You can’t curl any further away, but you don’t try to stop yourself from letting a shiver pass down your spine to your toes. It doesn’t stop him from pursuing you. “You still are, just look at you.”   
  
The edges of his hands trail their way up your calves, petting and flitting away in bursts as you clench your eyes shut, flashes of color sparking behind your eyelids with every brief connection. Your breaths are shudders, your chest heaving as you try to stop the tiny moans from slipping around your teeth, but you find them twisting out into the duvet as he follows you with ease. A fish in a barrel comes to your mind, only he aims with his heart and nothing else. Still, you are not an easy target, and his armies march five, ten, come down to hold your thighs, his grip firm but gentle as he keeps you in place. You’re trembling now, a city perched on the break of calamity.   
  
“My dearest,” he cocks the gun, “my darling,” he aims. “Look at me, Dirk, you song in the night.”   
  
You obey, your lashes making a halo around his dark face as your eyes slip slowly open. You’re panting with the effort it takes to meet his eyes, not knowing what comes next. His smile spreads like pearls over satin.   
  
“You’re doing so good, my love, so very good.”   
  
And just like that, he rips through you. You feel all at once a singing heat, just beneath your lungs, travel through your chest like the bullet that he is and leave you with a whimper. You’re on fire, every part of you burning, burning. He lights the path, draws the flames, his crusade a victory and your heart the spoils. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t relent.   
  
His hands work faster now. They feel like they’re everywhere, your heat and his a chorus of ruin and rejuvenation, and you shake because he’s  _ wrong _ , you know he’s wrong, but he can’t see it, he doesn’t want to see it, so he won’t. He just keeps going, trying to turn you into ash with his tongue.   
  
“You’ve always been so good, Dirk. Every day with you, I get swept away by what an utter dolly you are. My briar prince,” and all the while his body moves closer now, a swath of embers in his wake. 

 

It’s wretched how that makes you feel deep down, that somewhere in you is something Jake sees that keeps him coming back, keeps his hope alive, a living, winged thing that you know you could destroy in one careless word. You’re guarded by some bitter armored fyre that shines its scales and slinks its way around your heart, but he holds its talons like he holds you now, a comfort and a curse. 

This is not what you thought he meant when he said he’d be giving you a _right talking-to while stripped to the buff and at yours truly’s mercy_ , winks and all. He can’t be saying this because he means it, but you know he does. He’s always seen the best in you, and now he’s got the spotlight to say it, your messenger in the grand foyer. He throws more compliments at you, and like knives, each one finds its way into the biting, aching thing in you until you feel like you’re going to  _ burst _ . You want to tell him to stop, but you don’t want this to end for fear of where he has led you.

 

You’re louder than you would like to be when one hand finally comes to collect his boon, your full body twitch catching him off guard, but then he’s right back again. The noise you let loose around your gag makes him grin, a bright row visible between two thick vines, and he parts his traitorous lips to keep on the attack.

 

“Oh my sweet dickens, just listen to that tune you play! What a symphony! If you weren’t already such a fine zither, I like to think I’d be your accompaniment.”

 

He’s teasing you, he can’t  _ really _ be this serious with...whatever this is he’s trying to pull. You wish he’d just pull your dick instead of your heart around like this, but you can’t do more than make petulant whines and squirm under his feather soft touches. You can’t make a fool of yourself so soon just because he’s good at saying nice things at you, which is where you’re starting to think this whole scheme is headed. He fooled you, and it’s your own fault. You know Jake, and if there’s one thing Jake is, it’s being able to move you however he wants, whenever he wants. In this way, you think the game got it wrong. That you should have been the page, and Jake your prince. You might try to lock yourself away and pretend that he’s just being hopeful, and that soon, all this will come crashing down like before, but there is no denying Jake when it comes to you. If he asked you right now to take your rock of a heart out of your chest and beat it to the ground, it would already be done, and maybe you wouldn’t have to suffer as you are, victim to his self deceit.

He’s quick to pick up on your tense posture, sending relief that only makes you ache, crossing borders between cords and moving his pawns over your chest, your nipples, down to your navel and up onto the only part of you he should have been wary of. One hand takes his prize while the other wraps around the knot at your center, lifting your torso high, exposing you, bringing your radioactive core closer to him. His weight on the bed slides you further into the trap of his body, but it’s too late for you. The smile he carries on his lips as he looms over you to kiss you where your heart lies beneath the mud and stone will stay with you forever.

Your head rolls back but has nowhere to go, neck straining to keep it up so you can see him, but now you wish you hadn’t. It’s been branded into your memory, and the moment he presses his kiss to your breast, he starts a steady rhythm on your dick. The city lies in ruins at your captors feet, and now the tide is coming in to wash it all away. If he jerks you off fast enough, maybe you can forget what he’s doing to you. 

 

That would be too kind, and you already knew you were never going to be set free until he got what he wanted.

 

His kisses leave cold spots now, your skin a molten field, and as he marks his way along he gasps out little words, like rain on a tin drum. Parses of phrases you only half hear as you try desperately to tip over the edge, but some you pick out.  _ Beguiling bellflower, dearheart, a fustian wonder. _ A right belladonna you are. All this flowery prose, and he still keeps going. When will the poison set in for him? He calls you his pet, his riches, his, his _his_.

 

He already has you, doesn’t he know? The key has dangled from his neck from the word  _ go _ , yet still you're stolen by him. He’s holding you up with one arm and your legs are parted like waves around him, your back will be so sore in the morning, but how can you care about that when he  _ won’t stop _ , won’t stop breathing his thoughts onto your sweat soaked skin, rubbing and coaxing you to your peak even as it makes you struggle to keep afloat. You're losing your mind, you can’t keep up with him, bobbing in a sea of praise you don’t understand, how can he have so much on you that isn’t fear and choking.

 

You give in, you  _ have _ to, otherwise you’ll never stop gasping for air that isn’t coming. You let yourself sink into his warmth, stop trying to think, just let the rise of the water take you where he wills it.

 

“That’s it, that’s it! Yes, oh yes! Dirk, you’ve done it, such a good fellow, so eager, and I'm pleased as punch you finally started getting the hang of this venture!” his laugh is light compared to your heaving gasps.  You’re so close, you can feel the coil wind tighter inside you, pushed up against the shore of his chest. He’s stroking you just the way you like, the pressure and heat working their way through you as he keeps lavishing you with your eulogy.

 

“C’mon love, show me what a splendiferous sight you’ll make with your seed splashed all over you like the Sunday paper.”

 

You don’t know, or can’t tell the difference, too far gone to care or just too deep to see the surface, but you come with a series of crashing tides, your knees knocking into his elbows, arms strained against rope and fingers reaching into nothing, just barely able to flick your nail against the fabric of his shorts. You're breathless, lungs burning, and the last words you hear are more praise, more joyous cheering as you pass your limits and slip into darkness, spent on every level.

  
  
  


“Welcome back.”

 

Slowly, like coming out of a fugue, your senses return. He’s leaned over you, one elbow propping him up while the other draws lazy swirls into your chest. Your arms are free now, your one hand reaching toward the one making white lines in the sandy areas of your pecs. His hand clasps yours, winding digits fit together til your two palms meet. Your eyes feel heavy still, and there’s a boneless weight in the meat of you now. He untangled you while you slept, even cleaned you up, no sticky trail of semen to mark the passage of your slumber. In a way, it makes the whole event seem more real, since there's no way you'd let yourself stay dirty in reality. 

 

You let your eyes wander lazily up his arm, over his shoulder to his neck and up the column of his throat til you meet sunlit green. His smile still sits there, a little dimmer but no less gratified and waiting to grow.

 

“Hey,” your hand gives a slight twitch. He rubs his thumb back and forth over the top of your hand, a low hum rumbling out of his chest, urging you. You really are the luckiest man alive. Or, since you're immortal, the luckiest god alive.

 

“That was…,” you falter, but he just keeps humming, slightly louder now, “That was really, something...that you did there.” You scratch your cheek, lowering your gaze. Guess you're still a little fuck drunk, you can’t even formulate a decent score for your orgasm. Somewhere in the top 3 at least, but with Jake you might as well not have a ranking. He chuckles a bit, jostling you as he shifts closer, shaking the mattress. He kisses the tops of your knuckles.

 

“Oh please, the  _ real _ theatrics was all you, love,” and it's like he is a kid all over again, the way he lights up while he gently ribs you for giving him a good show. “I hardly had to do anything but speak the barnyard truth to get your rocks off, and that’s a treat on it’s own!”

 

You're blushing again, you can tell by the heat in your face, but there's still a pit in your stomach that tells you he’s exaggerating for effect, that there was more of him in play than what’s inside your own brittle heart.

 

“So then, was the point of this endeavour to get me to feel like your captive, or to just let you call me pretty things?”

 

His smile turns down, eyebrows furrowing gently. His eyes hold you, and you feel that stone start to turn in your stomach again, rolling into disappointment. But he doesn’t seem disappointed in you, just, in how you seem to be straying from the endgame.

 

“Dirk,” his thumb presses down, “Oh no, sweetheart, there’s nothing I said today that was less than the god’s honest truth. I hadn’t even gone as far as I wanted to, to be frank.” You can’t look at him, but you can’t stop staring either. He’s really trying to sell you this image of yourself. He brings his other hand up, brushing your hair aside with a flick. “I had so much more to say, entire essays if you will, to follow more along your preferred form of academia.” His eyes shift away, lost in a thought train, then swerve back to you before you have a chance to get out of the way. “But! I suppose I can save all of that jabber for next time!” 

 

The cheshire grin he has is insidious. He will bury you someday, and it will be his own wicked tongue that will throw the first clump of dirt, you’re sure of nothing less. You can’t say anything against him, not when he’s trained all that fearsome determination on you. He’s practically glowing with how much he wants you to fall for his charming routine. His fingers rubbing into your scalp, nails barely scratching, is lulling you back into sleep.

 

“In the meantime, how about I whip us up a spot of lunch! How does that sound, clementine?” He releases your hand to pat your side, gliding smoothly over the gnarled stops.

 

“I could help..” you start to say, but he stops you.

 

“No. No, you stay right here, poppet, I’ll take care of it. You're in my keep, and it's about right that I return the favor for all the years you’ve spoiled me, haha!” He gets up to leave, the bed bouncing up as he makes his way out of the room, smile running away with him as he goes. You feel like you're dreaming still, but your hand slides over where his warmth was in the sheets just moments ago, and you know he’s still here as he starts to make noise in the kitchen. His humming has traded itself for a melody that reaches you. 

 

You're not ashamed of how quickly you came, but you are a little worried that he’ll ask this of you more often. You honestly don’t know if you could handle this again, or how he’d make it work a second time since this was his plan all along. You still can’t believe he meant everything, even though he tried to tell you it was real, tell you that’s just what he sees and that it was only the tip of the iceberg of his feelings for you, about you. You don't want to be the voice of reason, not when it made him look so ecstatic when you let yourself fall into him.

 

Still though, if there is a chance that's what he really thinks of you... 

  
Some of the pit shrinks, and the city starts to rebuild, green and golds springing up in the cracks, while you drift along with him on the surface, into the quiet. You suppose you could do this again sometime.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to [city](http://cityinthesea.tumblr.com) and [cale](http://awildcale.tumblr.com) for the art this is inspired by
> 
> and thanks to the nsfw group chat for cheering me on ♡ enjoy


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